Alright, first things first. Because I don’t want to get any death threats over my recovery blog, and because I understand and respect the fact that Christ is a precious figure to many many people around the world, let me say that this post is in no way sacrilege to Jesus or religion. To fully vet our backgrounds in this department, JM’s family is mainly Catholic and Episcopal (I think) and I was born to a protestant woman who converted to Judaism in order to avoid the wrath of her mother-in-law and not be permanently exiled for being shikseh! My mother later became a born-again Christian (years after her divorce) and started burning Barbara Streisand albums in response to the threat of satanic messages being secretly contained on secular music. As you can imagine, (at the tender age of 9 years old) I was shocked, and also very confused! Later in life I was reunited with a whole slew of my Jewish relatives, and that’s where I picked up my mad Yiddish skills. Okay, here’s how JM makes peace with Jesus.

We were standing at the kitchen sink yesterday eating a healthy breakfast some toast loaded with butter and raspberry jam, when with a furrowed brow, he scratched his head (jelly eeking out the corners of his mouth) and said:

Maybe Jesus was one of us.

Huh? As in alcoholic?

Why do we have to take the words of Jesus so literally?

Mmmm…are you saying he inferred that he was an alcoholic?

I’m a child of god. I’m a child of the universal whole.

Ok. And?

Jesus broke off some good teaching, but so does Art.

Who’s Art?

From L.A., on skid row. The homeless photographer guy we hung out with.

Ooooh! I love Art. Agreed, Jesus is Krishna, is Buddha, is Art. He was a teacher.

Yeah. He was a teacher. Like Art. We’re all teachers. It’s just about how far we’re willing to go to carry the message.

The conversation went on from there but in the name of brevity, I’ll leave it at this. Yesterday, JM was able to channel his inner Jesus (and his inner Emmet Fox) in order to point out that as Fox would say, “There is absolutely no system of theology of doctrine to be found in the Bible. It simply isn’t there!” This goes back to yesterday’s discussion of Step 2, that we find numerous ways to come into faith, and once there, we have the option to just keep growing. People are essentially spiritual creatures (not necessarily religious ones!) At any given moment if we consider all the possible religions and religious perspectives on the planet, we are getting just a fragment of different ways to say the same thing…for example:

So if you’re struggling with Step 2, coming to believe that a power greater than yourself can restore you to sanity, you’re probably putting that power into a box, making it rigid and strict. Instead, try wearing the idea of a power greater than yourself like a loose cloak (vs. a straitjacket.) Simply wrap yourself loosely in the idea that you are not that power. That’s all you really need to know to begin. You’re not God! Once I accepted that there was in fact a power greater than Nina, my heart began to open to the teachers that were brought into my life. And in sobriety I learned that everyone, every single person with whom I have any encounter, is a teacher. Teaching me in just a word, a glance, an attitude, a phrase, a sentence, a conversation, who I want to be and who I definitely do not want to be. I can thank everyone I come in contact with, no matter how they treat me.

I give you that Jesus was pretty cool. He was a subversive you know, always at war with the ‘official’ powers and regime of his own country. They knew, just like the powers at large today know, that when people speak the truth, when they can access the truth, hold it in their hearts, become empowered and moved by it, it is the beginning of the end for the old regime. And that’s a lot of power.

This year there was a ton of research into the disease of alcoholism and trends affecting addicts and alcoholics. Many of the findings were predictable, including the fact that high rates of addiction are linked to cancer, mental illness and poverty. Predictably, doctors are still handing out high-powered prescriptions without a second thought, and addiction disrupts the sleep cycle (particularly for women), but there were two studies I found especially interesting.

The first is a Harvard study that shows that AA helps people stay sober (read more about it here) by increasing our spirituality–even for those of us who may come to the rooms as agnostics or atheists. It seems we soak up a little of the good stuff just by putting our rear end in a chair and staying there for a prolonged period of time. The study also showed that meeting attendance helps support new social networks, reduce depression and motivate us to keep on the path of sobriety. So, yay for A.A.

The second study I thought was noteworthy was one from Case Western Reserve University Medical School that showed helping others increases a person’s chances of staying sober. It seems that the pathway to long-term sobriety truly is paved with good deeds. So if you’re grumbly this holiday season and you’re feeling a little like a train that might jump the tracks, get busy being of service to someone other than yourself.

In related news:

This is the way my face looks after trying to take a decent holiday picture with JM 17 times, with him making crazy faces the entire time. In more than 10 years of marriage I have hardly one photo where we are both making a ‘happy photo face’ at the exact moment the photo is snapped. Bleh!

And lastly: MOST UNIQUE CHRISTMAS GIFT EVER

Yes it is a red velour sombrero, and yes it was hand-crafted by JM as a Christmas gift to be remembered. The back says Adios Sucka, and the front says, La Jefe–The Boss–that’s right!REPRESENT!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I so needed that big deep breath. Okay, so I ♥ this saying. Found it on the electronic Google machine (as my husband calls it) and it fits my life perfectly, so I thought I’d share.

But this isn’t a serious post. We’re way too close to Christmas and the arrival of all the family and holiday madness that ensues. For the next few days, I’ll just be reporting from my life for your entertainment pleasure.

FROM THE GROCERY STORY

I arrived at the HEB around 5 p.m., fully prepared to master my major list without forgetting anything (Spoiler alert: I am short one container of Parmesan cheese and some winter beans for a tomatillo stew JM is making…so that plan FAILED!) I should mention that when I first moved to Texas from Los Angeles, the grocery store was a major nemesis for me. Californians are totally spoiled by an abundance of extremely fresh produce at what I now realize are dirt cheap prices. Unless you want to spend $17 on a pound of grapes at Whole Foods, managing healthy eating of whole foods is a lot more difficult here. This however, is just an aside. I’ve got the situation under control now (6 years later!)

I prepared for market success, eating before I left the house. I left the children at home with their father. I parked strategically–not close enough to be engaged in any parking lot wars, but not far enough to be soaked trying to lug 79 bags of groceries to the car. I brought my list and a pen, walked in the door and headed straight for the bathroom. Entrance of said bathroom was completely blocked by a young mother who stood tormented with an infant strapped to her chest in one of those sling things that kind of always makes you think the kid is going to fall out. While she was wrangling three other children under the age of 5, she looked at me trying to get in the bathroom and flat out said, what do you want me to do?. I cracked up. What can I say…I feel her pain! Said children were arguing over a toy machine. One screamed and started pulling its own hair while the other grabbed a hold of her leg and started climbing up. She looked miserable, and that kind of tired that leaves you wondering if you are homicidal or suicidal. As I squeezed past her ginormous cart (the ridiculous one with the plastic car stuck to the front of it) I slammed the bathroom door shut behind me and took a humongous breath and thanked whatever gods may be that my own children are now 7 & 10. I have only puberty to look forward to.

In related news, why is it that every flavor candy cane is stocked in plenty, but not one box of regular sized peppermint candy canes could be found among the 7,000 other boxes lining the shelves? I will now LITERALLY have to crush the enormous mega-size peppermint sticks (that were twice as much and infinitely more work) by hand with a hammer instead of simply putting the whole shebang (not sure on the spelling of this word) into my Cuisinart. What’s a girl to do? This annoying and potentially dangerous situation is unavoidable, and I’m wondering if I have any legal recourse against HEB in the event of an accident, since I am basically on ‘No Sleep till Brooklyn’ mode and should probably not be using any kind of tool.

Lastly, and least important, the Best Jacket Ever award goes to the black poofy one I’ve been wearing as a standby for years. Gap, Circa 2004, has weathered hailstorms, rain, several road trips across the country and small children’s vomit, but tonight’s spilled bottle of buttermilk makes it official. Waterproof is always the way to go.

This picture sort of makes me giggle. We (alcoholics) have been ‘fessing up to the good stuff since the minute we walked through the door. Our interest in confession may well be that we learn in A.A. how good it feels!

I shouldn’t say this blog is like church, but better for your mood, because some people find church very uplifting. I admit that I have been moved and inspired by some sermons I’ve heard. But overall, I think there is this sense of admonishment in the church setting…that we’ve done something wrong (or something is intrinsically wrong with us) and that we need to focus on repentance and finding forgiveness for our wayward path.

I’m Jewish by birth, and for a Jew, the only way we can be forgiven for our sin is through a process called Teshuva. The process looks something like this:

Regret and acknowledge the sin.

Forsake the sin.

Worry about the future consequences of the sin.

Act and speak with humility.

Act in a way opposite of the sin.

Understand the magnitude of the sin.

Refrain from lesser sins (so as not to commit greater sins.)

Confess.

Pray for atonement.

Correct it however possible.

Pursue works of truth and goodness.

REMEMBER THE SIN FOR THE REST OF ONE’s LIFE!!!!

Do not commit the same sin again!

Teach others not to sin.

Oy vey! I kibbitz you not with this. remember the sin for the rest of your life? It’s like shlepping a heavy sack of potatoes around and then kvetshing about the pain!

So I’m incredibly grateful that this is not the story of A.A. Because there is certainly plenty wrong with Nina, the alcoholic. I’m trying to figure out where blackouts fit into the picture of a Jewish confession. Feh! But in A.A., instead of telling me I needed to repent, they said, hey, clean up your side of the street and then you’ll see how all these ‘wrongs’ are going to make a beautiful, inspired sober life that carries a message of freedom and recovery to other suffering alcoholics. That’s your amends. It’s a living one. Get it together and start acting right, no matter what you think.

So it leaves me in a better mood. I guess you could call that turning the phrase…in other words, it’s like church. Confess (in the 4th step) and then clean up your mess (in the 9th step). But confessing to a drunk is a whole different kind of experience than confessing to your Rabbi! Over the years I’ve discovered that this special someone is rarely shocked by anything I say. Most of the time they laugh in my face and throw out a story of their own to match mine play for play. I’m encouraged to clean up my messes, not because I’m an intrinsically flawed human (a shikse, a goy…bahahaha!) but instead, because it will make me a better person. Who puts mayonnaise on pastrami on white bread? OY!

When I own my part, I don’t have to own yours. When I’ve made a thorough and honest amends, there is nothing left for me to do but step back and see where the road (between me and you) takes us. And that is the beginning of a certain kind of freedom.

Dear Lord, it’s me Nina. Just trying to carry the vision of your will for me into all my affairs. How may I serve you? By doing the dishes? Again? I’m so glad my life was spared the torture of alcoholism so that I could have dish pan hands at 5:30 in the morning.

Bless the children…even the ones that slept over this past weekend and destroyed my living room. I have yet to get the silly string out of the dog’s fur, but whatever…she’s old.

I guess I’ll head out and go to the spa again, since you have provided no better job despite my enormous talent and genetic disposition for success. I realize you are ‘all-knowing’ and I think it unnecessary to elaborate on why that freaks me out so much. I, I, I, me, me, me. Self…ugh!

Can Chris Hayes from MSNBC give Rachel Maddow her whole Ellen D. meets 21 Jumpstreet look back? It works so much better on her, and frankly lord, she’s a better journalist. Aha! I have found gratitude this morning…for quasi decent journalism, and of course, for John Stewart Lord. Thank you for the laughs.

Can anyone save Netflix from Reed Hastings at this point? Maybe you can, Lord…if you’re not too busy watching over the agricultural scientists responsible for guarding our food supply from invasive species coming across the border (and no, I’m not talking about the immigrants–I still have the bleeding heart you left me with, though it’s taking quite a beating lately!) They’re so busy being reassigned to Homeland Security that the cantaloupe have contracted Listeria, whatever that is. Something germified that kills you.

First I ate everything, and then I had to eat everything organic. Now it’s not enough to eat organic, it has to be locally grown and have lived in a state of bliss before being eaten. I haven’t seen bacon in 27 weeks. I’m ready to shoot a pig myself for Sunday morning breakfast the way it used to be. Help me continue to love your creatures Lord, large and small, and treat them the way you would want them treated. And bless the Dalai Lama, he continues to carry the message.

By the way, I’m not sure the agri-scientists or homeland security have noticed, but Bin Laden is dead. It would have been easier to import the Listeria-laden cantaloupes to Pakistan years ago. I’m off track and should run these ideas by someone else.

Forgive me Lord. I have resentment against Jon Huntsman’s hair. I’m petty, shallow, obsessively critical. I’ve offered these defects hundreds of times in my 6 & 7…why are they still here?

I owe a 9…my gravy is lumpy as my sponsor would say. Where is my spiritual blender in this time of need?

Be with JM today as he heads off to campus for a day of intellectually stimulating conversation about the world’s ailments. When the TA is hot and young and blonde may he remember the wife who served him coffee in bed and picked up his boxer shorts off the floor. Fear, mistrust and suspicion. Jealousy, envy and lust (why was I not born blonde? I’m not fun enough to be blonde?)

Protect us Lord, and protect our children, from Wall Street, the President, the indecision of our now ‘SuperCongress’, and Joe the Plumber (You may not have heard yet…he’s running for office.)

It’s Wednesday, and I feel like shit. A shower and a cup of coffee might help as well as a few extra hours of sleep and a visit with a friend. Give me the good sense and the discipline to take care of myself this week. That of course will require you removing my penchant for being a martyr. Help the gay people in their global fight to live and love like the rest of us. You of all people know that if someone is willing to spend the rest of their life with another person, the world ‘oughta get out of their way.